Weapons
by A Fracken' Kraken
Summary: Genetically engineered to fight their war. Sephiroth/Cloud
1. Chapter 1

Pain was the first thing he ever truly felt. Blazing, twisting lava that wound itself through his veins that lit every single nerve on fire. He screamed and was surprised at how muffled his voice was. He fought against the burning misery to open his eyes and canvass his surroundings. Everything held a warped curvature and an unnatural green tint. _Mako chamber. _ The words flitted through his mind and he was vaguely aware he had no recollection of how he knew where he was.

There were people surrounding him, some staring in awe, most rapidly tapping their styluses against electronic pads between quick glances. A man to the right of the tank, presumably a technician, worked furiously with the keypad, while another monitored vital signs. With a quick thumbs up from the man monitoring, the technician entered a sequence and ceased typing. As quickly as the pain had come, it subsided and he let out a keening cry of relief. It was then that he noticed the man who stood in the middle, hunched over with his hand clasped behind his back. Seemingly, he had no other task other than to observe the event through the thick lenses of his glasses with an unwavering eerie smile that crept along his gaunt face.

He locked gazes with this man, even as the liquid mako emptied from his tank. The man was in charge, he was sure of it. _In charge of the science behind the creation. _ Irrational fear flooded his senses when the man strode forward, patiently waiting as the technicians opened the chamber door, quickly-yet precisely-removing numerous I.V.s and other tubes. When they finished and stepped aside, the man held out his hand to him, that ominous smile never leaving his face.

"Welcome to the world, Strife," he said, his voice deep and guttural. Strife hesitated, collapsed at the bottom of the mako chamber. With the air mask now removed, the over-sterile tang of the room invaded his nostrils as he panted from exertion. The man before him was dangerous, he knew without knowing why. He strained to recall any past events prior to his painful awakening, for anything that would give him knowledge as to where he was and why. The feeling of consternation rose wildly when his struggle ended futilely. A soft cry escaped his lips and the man before him scoffed, the smile finally vanishing. "The specimen is showing signs of confusion, therefore causing delay in reaction. These emotions should have been programmed to be disregarded. Mark for reprogram if specimen is unable to eliminate such unnecessary attributes," the man said over his shoulder as a tech behind him took note. He then turned back to Strife, his glare more than ample warning. "The world has no use hesitant soldiers. Now get up."

There was no room for questions. As quickly as he could, Strife clambered to his feet. The pain he felt as he awakened had completely faded, but in its wake his muscles throbbed dully. His balance was lost as he stepped forward, and he immediately threw his hands out to prevent falling. That was when his breath hitched in his throat and his eyes widened. Unlike the people who surrounded him, his hands weren't soft, pink, and tipped with translucent neatly cut nails. No, from his elbows, his forearm was dotted with black leathery skin that melded together until it was pure black. And while the bone structure of his hand was nearly identical to that of a normal human's, the last digit of each finger was tipped in a sharp, grey, bone claw. The claws almost looked like plated armor, one end sharp, while the other lapped across the next phalange. Despite his fear of keeping the man waiting, Strife hesitated once more. _Death spawn genetically engineered to fight death spawn_. Another bit of information that arrived unannounced and unexplained in his thoughts. He closed his eyes in concentration as he pried for more knowledge.

"Professor Hojo?" one of the assistance inquired, unsure of the specimen's behavior.

"Leave him," the man instructed. Strife opened his eyes, tearing them away from his hands to cautiously eye the man before him. At least now he had a name. "I assure you, Strife. The operation to reprogram the chip implanted in your brain is neither an appealing nor painless one. I suggest you do all to avoid it."

Quickly, Strife quelled all questions that had formed and with an inaudible grunt, braced him on the metal frame of the mako tank and pushed forward. The first few steps were awkward at best. Strife stumbled incapably as he stretched his arms out to steady himself. They were not the only extremities to extend, though. Many workers jumped back as two wings from Strife's back spread with a soft snap as they beat against the air and righted him. The specimen had no concept of the anatomy of his body, and this was evident as he cried out, twisting around futilely in to glimpse at the base of the abnormal appendages. They had felt so natural to him; it was hard to believe they were even attached. While he was unable to see where his wings protruded, Strife did discover another body part that made him even less human.

Professor Hojo was quick to explain as Strife grabbed the long, whip-like tail to examine. "While most of your DNA is altered, we did try to make you as human as possible. However, certain mutations were unavoidable and removal has a high percentage of resulting in paralysis." Strife dropped his tail and testily whipped to each side, while drawing his wings up. He found it easier to stand if he centered their weight. He failed to understand the meaning behind the professor's engineering. Why did it matter if he looked human or not? He must have voiced his concern because Hojo offered more explanations, though not without an exasperated sigh. "There is belief you will be easier to incorporate into Shinra military outfits the less you resemble a death spawn. Most soldiers prefer not to have their enemy fight alongside them."

"Fight?" Strife questioned. Before he received an answer, Professor Hojo waved a technician over, motioning to the stainless steel examining table in the middle of the room. Strife immediately lost his footing again as the technician grabbed his arm to pull him over. He was granted just enough time to regain his balance before being forced onto the table.

"Yes. You are a last ditch effort to prevent the annihilation of mankind. Hopefully you won't disappoint," Hojo said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "Because if you are not up to standard, it will mean twelve years wasted and we will have no further use for you."

After the initial examination, Strife endured rounds of basic physical testing before being brought to a confinement chamber for the night. There was only a mattress on the floor that lacked pillows or blankets and a commode in the far right corner, but Strife had never known anything of adequate furnishings and so he didn't complain. Being both mentally and physically exhausted, sleep came easy that night.

When Strife awoke, he was no longer in confinement. Instead, he was lying on his stomach in a shallow pool of water. With a startled cry he pushed himself up onto his heels, spitting and coughing water he had accidently inhaled. As he recovered, he surveyed his surroundings. The pool was a shallow man made pond, lined with alabaster bricks that deepened toward the middle. The foliage was typical for the environment, and Strife reached out to touch a lily pad for his first time. His movements were slow and hindered, as if he were sedated. He shook his head to try to clear it. Had Professor Hojo drugged and brought him here? He looked beyond the pond and saw nothing but rolling hills dotted thickly with mature trees bearing golden leaves. Other than the pond, there was nothing man made in sight.

"You're finally awake," a voice commented behind him. Strife whirled, standing to his feet with his wings raised and poised to fight. The man chuckled, but there was nothing kind in his voice. His features were hard to make out, as if Strife were viewing him through fogged glass. He rubbed his eyes, sure there was something obscuring his vision, but it didn't clear. "You're much scrawnier than I imaged you would be," the man said, grabbing Strife's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Immediately, Strife jumped back with a gasp. The man had been on the other side of the pond. There was no physical way for him to close the gap between them in so short amount of time and certainly not unnoticed with Strife's enhanced senses.

"Who are you?" Strife asked as he retreated. This didn't seem to faze the man at all, as he kept pace with him.

"So short and young and stupid as well," the man continued, ignoring the question. "I think they've wasted their time and money on you. You're not but a worthless runt." Strife scowled at the words, a low growl rising in his throat. The man only laughed again; cold and emotionless. Indignantly, Strife struck his wing towards the man's face while swinging his fist for a follow up attack. The sedatives must have still been in his system, as his movements were still far too slow. The man easily blocked his wing with his forearm and grabbed his wrist before his fist could connect. Before he could react, Strife found himself face down in the pond again as the overwhelming force of the man's open hand blow sent him reeling. He hadn't even heard the break, only felt the pain as his nose was shattered. The man was not only quicker than him, but stronger as well. That was even more evident as a hand gripped his hair and wrenched him to his feet.

"As I said, useless. Hard to believe I had anything to do with your creation," the man spat before pushing him back. Strife landed hard on his backside, too dazed to support himself. His vision was becoming worse as everything became as blurry as his assailant.

"What do you-?" Strife was cut short as the man leaned down. He waivered on the edge of consciousness, blotches of black already crowding his hazy vision.

"Don't forget. You are nothing but a puppet," the man hissed into his ear. It was the last Strife heard before he blacked out.

When he woke again, he was back in confinement, laying in the same position he had fallen asleep in. His clothes were dry, his nose unbroken, and no trace of sedatives were in his system. Strife sat up, brows knitted in confusion. He was absolutely sure what had transpired was real. However, there was no evidence of it.

Strife shook his head as he slowly laid back down. He'd be sure to ask the professor in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

I redid this chapter because I'm a perfectionist and am never satisfied with my work. Next chapter coming soon, I promise. Also, you don't see it much in this chapter, but my writing is very morbid. There will be much gore. So if you're into the fluffy stuff, go elsewhere.

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"You're not supposed to have that," Kunsel warned, without glancing away from his phone. The SOLDIER 1rst beside him shrugged nonchalantly and gulped another swig from his flask. At this point, he didn't even bother to disguise it. Kunsel sighed dramatically, glad they weren't in plain view. Once they had arrived at Fort McKee, their unit had been granted a few hours of down time and were free to stretch their legs. Zack, had chosen an outcropping that overlooked the fort to establish privacy, obviously wanted to poison himself with boot leg SOLDIER grade liquor. Any inquiry about where he purchased it would lead to less than favorable answers. Where Kunsel used his skills to acquire intel concerning the military and war, Zack spent much of his abilities breaking every regulation the military had.

"Even the Wutaiians are offered a daily draught of sake. But us fine soldiers of Shin-ra get absolutely fucking nothing. Does that make sense to you?" Zack threw back another mouthful, which tempted Kunsel to snatch it away before his comrade became completely inebriated. No matter what Zack thought, his drunken returns back to camp were not unnoticed. Their CO only held his tongue because Zack was General Hewley's pupil, which made him untouchable. Kunsel was not so lucky. He was sure the detail assignments given to him as the CO's retaliation for his inability to punish Zack. If his comrade noticed, he didn't say anything. More than likely, he didn't even care enough to quit drinking. Despite what others thought, Zack Fair was a truly selfish man.

Kunsel was scanning the headlines of the Shin-ra news on his phone when a notification popped up with a small chirp. It was a message from Caleast, another SOLDIER he'd befriended in a dive bar in Junon while they were still recruits. Like Kunsel, he had a knack for networking and acquiring information. Had he not chosen the career of a SOLDIER, he would have done well as a Turk. A few of his acquaintances were high ranking in the Shin-ra hierarchy. Some were more than willing to divulge information for certain courtesies they were unable to execute themselves.

"Hm. Sehr interessant," Kunsel muttered as he read the message, earning a sidelong glance from Zack. The other SOLDIER didn't say anything, long used to his companion speaking his native language. "It seems Shin-ra has yet again defied the will of the gods. They're bringing another one of their mutations to the field." As he reread the text, Kunsel could feel his blood boil. He never cared for the creations of the Shin-ra science department. They sickened him because he could always see what they were before they had turned into crazed mako-infused beasts whose sole purposes were to kill. At least they were allies, however. This new abomination was genetically infused with the terror and dread of all humanity-a death spawn. They were creatures with an insatiable hunger for destruction and Kunsel hated them wholeheartedly.

"So?" Zack said with a shrug. "That's nothing new." He lifted his flask to his lips once more, but paused as he noticed how Kunsel grimaced.

"It's a death spawn mutation," Kunsel growled out. "And they're bringing it here. So help me Odin, if they assign it to our unit, I'll put a bullet between its gods damned eyes." Zack was silent for once, and Kunsel was grateful. His comrade knew where his hatred towards the death spawn originated. Nobody could forget the wake of death spawn destruction.

They appeared not long after the Wutaiian war ended. Initially, death spawn were categorized as an unknown species from the dense forest of the northern continent, migrating after the eradication of their habitat for war efforts. Since their numbers were few, they were easily dealt with. Moberly, a town on the southern coast of the northern continent was the first to witness the true carnage the death spawn were capable of.

It was also Kunsel's hometown. The people of Moberly were completely unprepared. The death spawn were no longer dog sized drakes picking off cattle that wandered too far. There were many of all sizes and shapes, each with the intent to annihilate every living thing in its path. Their skins were always jet black and reeking of death. Kunsel remembered smelling their fetid stench before ever seeing them. Some townspeople fell to claws, spikes, or teeth. They were the few and fortunate ones who took an easy, quick death. Most fell to the millions of diminutive, parasitic insect-like death spawn who chewed through skin and infected their host.

Once the death spawn-who were soon named the swarm after the fall of Moberly-was inside its host, it would crawl repulsively beneath the epidermis, spreading its disease. As the infection advanced, the host's veins thickened and blackened, easily visible beneath paling skin. Kunsel could never forget the screams of agony and despair as bodies twisted and swelled grotesquely, mutating into things wholly inhuman. Limbs ripped from bodies as jarring spikes of razor sharp bone and sinewy muscle replaced them. Tumor-like growths protected by hardened black scales grew where the death spawn took up residence, most located near the spine allowing the death spawn to control its host even after death. The people who fell to the swarm experienced long, harrowing deaths.

Kunsel's mother and sister had been among them. He didn't remember much after they were taken, and perhaps that was for the better. The few survivors of Moberly fled to Bone Village to take refuge. Kunsel assumed his father had also been slaughtered, since he never saw him after the massacre. He prayed his death had been quick, not like those that were killed by the swarm.

"If you do that, you'll be court martialed," Zack warned. Kunsel ignored him and gripped his PHS tightly. The message Caleast sent him contained no photographs or physical description of Shin-ra's latest project. He only hoped the abomination was small enough that they could manage it if it went out of control. Not like the large witherwings that roamed near the northern crater. "Still though," Zack continued, "I don't think there's a soul here who wouldn't want to kill it. Shin-ra has to be absolutely fucking nuts to bring something like that out here. Hopefully it'll be handed off to Foxtrot. Gods, I hate those uptight bastards. Hopefully they'll off each other."

"It'll probably be given to someone in the upper ranks. Someone who has more to lose if anything were to happen to it," Kunsel rationalized. "Our unit has a fair share of SOLDIER Firsts. More than most of the others stationed here. It's not unreasonable to think that we may acquire the mutated bitch." He knew Zack-as drunk as he was-had already thought about that. His comrade was trying to console him, knowing what he had gone through in Moberly. '_But he didn't have to watch as his family was murdered in front of him'_ Kunsel thought bitterly . He hated when Zack tried to emphasize with him. Gongaga had been kept out of reach of the death spawn by the military, and it wasn't likely the battle would be brought there any time soon. Zack's family and friends were kept safe, while Kunsel had nothing to return to.

"It won't be put into our unit," Zack assured.

"Why, are you going to cry to General Hewley about it?" Kunsel quipped, glaring. He meant his words to sting, to rouse Zack into an argument. Anxiety was bearing down on him and he had no way to relieve the tension.

Zack didn't take the bait, however. He merely shrugged and took another drink. "Should I?"

"Gods dammit! Why are you so damn calm about this? You've seen what they do; you know they're not some simple animal! The death spawn are sentient. What's to say this freak isn't going to turn on us the moment it gets the chance?" Throwing his hands in the air, Kunsel sighed exasperated. Much to his chagrin, Zack remained silent as he continued to rant. "These _things_ butcher people for no reason and now we're just going to allow one to fight alongside us! I just can't believe this…" Inexplicably, Zack cut his tirade off by shoving his flask into his face. For once, Kunsel was more than happy to accept, wanting nothing more than to wash the memories of Moberly down.

"Don't worry, no matter where it ends up, we'll take care of it," Zack promised, smirking. In the distance, the loudening sound of helicopter blades signaled the aircraft's approach.

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Totally what the helicopter sounds like: youtube /wTwDhe0T0AY I'm sure you can add the com in there yourself. Fanfiction and it's unwillingness to let me link to other sites.


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